


Imbalance

by superagentwolf



Series: The Touch of Time [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Established Relationship, Gen, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has returned- but only to Q. In the aftermath of Sherlock returning from the dead, James has an interesting run-in with the middle Holmes brother.</p><p>-</p><p>*Edited to be a standalone*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imbalance

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: In which I attempt to make a fumbling, angsty mess.

Q seemed happy. Or at least as happy as he could possibly be.

James knew what he was probably feeling. Angry, betrayed, guilty, relieved, excited. It wasn't every day the dead came back to life.

"-this is the last one. Make sure to keep it on you. I made it especially for you- nice and shiny, quite sleek. It'll work well on any locked room," Q was saying, handing James a curious object that looked like a hotel keycard.

"Mmmm. It's black," James noted, raising an eyebrow. "Bit obvious?"

Q's amused expression was betrayed by the way his eyes wandered over James' mouth. _Your voice,_ Q had said the day before, _is by far the most pleasing to listen to._ It had been a silly conversation about the double-oh agents and the way they only ever spoke to Q through his Bluetooth earpiece. It was silly, but for some reason James had carried on anyways. He liked teasing Q.

"That's why it changes according to its environment," Q murmured, dropping his voice as he took back the keycard. He lifted it to his mouth, pausing for a moment as he allowed the device to match his flushed skin. "See?" Q's voice was muffled through the metal, enough that James leaned in, looking from the Quartermaster's bright eyes to the strange color of the keycard.

"Doesn't quite do you justice," James replied huskily, reaching for the keycard, letting his thumb brush Q's chin as he delicately reached for the bottom edge of the device. _It really doesn't_.

The moment was heavy between them, but then it was gone- just like that- as Q stepped back, eyes merry as his lips twitched in their unamused line. He was always aware of his surroundings- never let anything get too intimate, even if M was fairly sure the two simply had a hobby of flirting.

"Do make sure to bring it back."

 

* * *

 

 

James paused at his door, head tilted slightly. The hotel carpet was plush beneath his feet, no visible crack beneath the door as in cheap motels. Fingering the gun hidden within his silkily lined jacket, he inhaled slowly before pushing the keycard into its slot.

The door swung open to an empty foyer and he stepped in, combat ready. He swept the room quickly, eyes canvassing the marble kitchenette and the minibar. As his gaze swung to the windows, he froze. Dark curls, a tall body. He felt his breath leave him for a moment, replaced by a single, painful beat of the heart.

His lips formed around a letter.

It was only a second after his voice began to rise in his throat that he realized he was wrong.

"Sherlock."

They really were brothers. The man turned his head slightly and James could see the high planes of his cheekbones highlighted by the evening sun. Rosy lips, almost-black curls falling over his pale skin. He was tall and thin, a worn blue scarf wrapped around his neck.

"James," Sherlock said, and James could hear it, the rolling stones of the man's sonorous voice slightly lower than Q's.

"Any particular reason you've decided to grace me with your presence?" James inquired, vaguely bothered by the idea that the man had come into his room. He was on a _job_.

"There is no job," Sherlock said, sounding vaguely disappointed.

James tensed minutely.

He didn't want to be on edge. He didn't want to be mistrustful or wary or angry. This was Q's brother.

"If there's no job, why am I here?" James asked carefully, slowly making his way further into the room. His mind raced through possibilities. _Imposter? Hostage? Is he being forced to deliver a message?_

"Oh, _do_ sit down," the offer came almost as an afterthought. Sherlock waved him to a seat. James paused, deciding it would be better to play along.

As James sat, Sherlock turned, finally revealing the entirety of his self. James could see the same blue-green eyes that Q had, somehow sharper and colder in Sherlock. Everything about Sherlock was almost like a sharper version of Q, angular and defined where Q sloped.

"Our older brother does not bear the same resemblance," Sherlock supplied, inclining his head. James felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Does he share your habit of reading my mind?"

"I am simply observant. As for...Q...I rather think he has other ways," Sherlock concluded, amusement and triumph lighting his gaze.

"You still haven't answered me," James noted conversationally. It seemed as though Sherlock was simply interested in speaking to James, although for what purpose he was not entirely sure.

"I assume you realize that I am- by the public's standards- quite dead," Sherlock said abruptly, hands resting on the arms of his chair. His smile was polite, but there was no humor in his eyes.

"So I've heard," James replied politely, trying to get a read on Sherlock. _There must be something he's giving away. Something that can tell me why he's here- why I'm here._

"By all means, try to read me. I'd like to hear your conclusion," the man interrupted James' thoughts, his smile another wicked edge on his face.

"You know...I'm not sure that you really _are_ alike," James said suddenly. _I can't read him. He isn't like Q- he's sharp and almost rude. It's as if he doesn't consider himself human. How could Q have thought this man was like a double-oh?_

"Oh. Why?" The question was not really a question- it was more of a statement, a challenge.

"Q doesn't fuck around," James said, smiling passively. He waited a beat for the inevitable reaction.

It wasn't quite what he expected, but he was a double-oh. He could improvise.

Sherlock laughed, the sound truly amused but not friendly in the least. It was predatory.

"You don't know him. You only like to think you do. You didn't even know for sure that I was alive until now, did you? You suspected, maybe. But you left him alone, alone at the door without any knowledge of what lay on the other side."

"And what did you do?" James asked mildly, trying to ignore the burning in his chest. He felt the bite and like a true animal, he wanted to bite back.

"I came back," Sherlock bit out, his teeth visible but the feeling of a smile lacking.

James paused, sudden realization hitting him hard.

"That's what this is. You're trying to scare me," James said, surprised. "You've all but got your gun out to polish," he added, faintly amused and annoyed.

"How _did_ you become a double-oh with those incredible inductive skills?" Sherlock shot back, lips twisting into a more amused version of his previous not-smile.

"You know, I ask myself the same thing all the time," a voice echoed drily from the doorway.

Sherlock and James turned at the same time, eyes lighting upon the figure in the doorway.

And there he was.

Q, his arms crossed over his stupid jumper (blue, today) and his long frame leaning against the closed door. _Closed. I didn't even hear him come in. **We** didn't even hear him come in,_ James realized, noticing the flicker on Sherlock's face.

"Honestly. You haven't even turned the lights on- what is this, some shit spy movie?" Q asked, irritation bleeding through his words. He flicked the switch, advancing towards the pair.

With the lights on, James noticed that Sherlock's features weren't quite so stark. The man was very obviously avoiding Q's gaze, looking out the window instead.

"Q, you shouldn't-," James began, but he was quickly cut off.

"Be here? Please. Do you honestly think I didn't know?" The question was directed towards Sherlock.

The older man was quiet for a moment before he turned towards his younger brother, eyes full of innocence.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Sherlock replied and James almost laughed aloud at the mischief curling around the man's mouth. It was the most emotion he'd seen from Sherlock yet.

" _Mycroft_ decided to put you on the case, then?" Q said testily in the tone James recognized as _hassled without tea._

Something in Q's words made Sherlock tense. James thought he saw a flash of hurt cross the man's face.

_Wait. Mycroft. Mycroft..._

"I should think not," Sherlock said poisonously and James raised an eyebrow, watching the man roll his eyes back. "Honestly. I was _bored._ Isn't _this_ the better alternative?"

Q inhaled sharply and James thought to himself, had he been standing, he likely would have taken a step back.

Q seldom angered. He was usually some level of irritated, sure, but anger was not something Q indulged in. He had no one to be angry at, no one to really hate. He didn't do hate.

But for a moment, because of something Sherlock said, _anger_ crossed Q's face.

And just as it passed, his hand moved like lightning across his brother's face.

James had heard the sound of a hand cracking against a face before. He could usually tell by the sound whether blood would be drawn, a jaw dislocated, teeth rattled. Q had a good slap.

"Sherlock. Holmes. _Apologize_ to me," Q managed, the pent-up, swirling emotion behind his words straining his voice. James inhaled sharply and stood.

"Q. You-,"

"James, _stop_. I need him to tell me. I need-," his voice stumbled, broke. James reached out carefully, steadying, his hand resting on Q's shoulder for a moment. He turned to Sherlock.

"When I return from the lobby, I expect you to be done," James said softly, dangerously. He left then, wishing with all his heart that life didn't have to be so hard.

For him. For Q. For the agents and servants of Queen and Country.

"I'm sorry."

The words were a whisper, almost too quiet to be heard, but they were there. They escaped Sherlock's lips as the sound of the door shutting echoed in the room.

"Are you?" Q asked, and the tremble of tears invaded his usually steady voice.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry I did not tell you. I am sorry I never talked to you, I am sorry-,"

His failing words were cut off by Q's arms, the younger Holmes clutching his brother to his chest as if it would keep him there, safe, forever.

"I love you, Sherlock. Please don't leave me."

"I won't," Sherlock whispered, holding his younger brother close.

 

* * *

 

 

"I _was_ bored," Sherlock was saying as James opened the door.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure," Q replied, shuddering.

James made his way in with an armful of extra towels.

"I assume we aren't catching a late flight," James said drily.

For a moment, James had an odd sense of double vision as both brothers stared at him with the exact same incredulous, disgusted look.

"James. Did you lose the keycard I gave you?" Q asked slowly, as if speaking to one of his many Q-branch minions. James knew that tone of voice. He'd never been on the receiving end of it.

"No," James replied, equally slowly, irked.

"Good," Q said shortly, rising from the couch where he sat next to his brother. "Let's get the best suite."


End file.
